Jewell Marceau had always possessed a peculiar magnetism, and even before her name showed up on the club’s schedule, she was the kind of woman who could curve a room’s attention toward her with a simple toss of her whiskey-colored hair. If you were a man and she wanted you, the universe conspired to make sure you’d find yourself tongue-tied, cock-strangled, and desperate for her approval. It was a joke among the regulars: Jewell could own you with a wink and leave you stripped of dignity by last call. But for Ruby, watching from behind the glassy bar, the joke was less funny when it started to tangle her own boyfriend, Drew, into its web. Jewell’s power had never been theoretical; tonight, it was up close and personal, unspooling with a greasy inevitability.
It was supposed to be a routine Thursday, slow on the books but lucrative at the poles. Jewell was running the late set, a crowd favorite, confident enough to sashay backstage in nothing but her black mesh bodysuit and a fur-lined bomber she’d “borrowed permanently” from another girl. Drew was meant to be helping with the till, counting out rolls of quarters, sorting liquor orders, and texting Ruby every forty minutes with pictures of cats he saw on the stoop. That’s why when Ruby took her break early and rounded the corner into the dressing hall, she nearly broke the heel off her Doc Marten. There, in the pale blue jaundice of the stairwell, was Drew’s broad back, hunched and hungry. Jewell was wrapped around him, almost spider-like, and her legs were already knotted at his waist. She was giggling, low and sticky, nipples outlined like targets through stretched mesh.
For a moment, Ruby’s rage was so clean and hot she could have spit molten iron. But there was something else, too, a sick undertow of fascination. She watched Drew falter in his protest, watched Jewell’s tongue trace his earlobe and her hand snake down to his crotch. He tried, weakly, to pull away, but the look in his eyes was less resistance and more surrender – something Ruby recognized from her own evenings in Jewell’s orbit. Still, it was the shamelessness of it, the total lack of cover, that really burned her. Jewell didn’t even bother to break eye contact with Ruby as she ground herself down onto Drew’s lap, the two of them trading ‘oops’ faces like it was an inside joke.
Ruby waited for the apology, the quick scramble to make things right, but all she got was that blasé smile Jewell wore whenever she knew she’d already won. Something black and final clicked in Ruby’s chest. She smiled back, calm as a cat, and watched as Jewell peeled herself off Drew with feline disinterest and slinked up the narrow staircase, hips swaying in open invitation. In that moment, Ruby’s instincts split in two – one part burning to pummel Drew’s face in, the other drawn up the stairs in pursuit of Jewell, vengeance moving through her veins with the certainty of physics.
She followed, light-footed and predatory, up the cramped steps that led to the staff-only corridor. Jewell’s laughter trailed ahead, a needlepoint of sound in the hush, but the dancer didn’t notice Ruby until it was far too late. The hallway up here was barely wider than a coffin, with ductwork overhead and a single flickering bulb painting everything in crime-scene yellow. Jewell was halfway to the greenroom, pausing to check her phone, when Ruby made her move.
She didn’t bother with warnings. She launched herself into Jewell’s back with a brutal, two-armed shove, sending her sprawling against the cinderblock wall with a grunt that sounded more surprised than pained. Jewell tried to twist around, but Ruby was already on her, pinning her arms behind her with a practiced grip. The dancer’s resistance was fierce but short-lived—she was quick, but Ruby had three inches and twenty pounds on her, not to mention pure adrenal advantage. Jewell cursed, spat, and tried to elbow her in the ribs, but Ruby only tightened her hold and forced her into the manager’s office just off the hall, slamming the door behind them.
The office was a chaos of paperwork, liquor invoices, and the acrid reek of spilled vodka. Ruby flipped the light on with her elbow and frog-marched Jewell to the battered desk. The struggle was rough but strangely intimate; the two women had shared cigarettes, secrets, and shifts, but never anything quite this raw. Jewell’s cheeks were flushed, pupils glassy with a cocktail of anger and something else, a thrill that Ruby recognized because it vibrated in her own bones.
“Let go, you crazy bitch!” Jewell tried to twist free, but Ruby already had the upper hand.
She yanked open the bottom desk drawer with her free hand. It was the club’s unofficial lost-and-found for contraband: condoms, handcuffs, a roll of black duct tape, a pair of fluffy pink cuffs, and a tangle of ropes that no one ever admitted to owning. Ruby paused for a split second, weighing her options, then grabbed the zip ties and the ball gag from the tangle. Jewell saw her reflection in the office’s cracked window and let out a half-laugh, half-scream.
“Fuck you! Oh my god, Ruby, you wouldn’t—”
But Ruby would. She wrenched Jewell’s wrists behind her like she was prepping a perp for a mugshot, threaded the zip tie through, and cinched it until the plastic bit into bone. Jewell’s breathing went ragged, but she didn’t beg; she craned her neck, eyes fiery, and spat a line of insults that would have made a sailor blush. But Ruby’s focus had narrowed to the task at hand. With surprising gentleness, she pried open Jewell’s jaw and slotted the red rubber ball between her teeth, strapping it tight behind her head. Jewell’s curses muffled, then faded into a low, furious hum.
It was almost too easy. Jewell fought every second, twisting her hips and trying to plant her stiletto heel into Ruby’s shin, but Ruby was in full command now. She took a length of the rope and looped it around Jewell’s elbows, snugging them together until her chest heaved forward, cleavage threatening to burst through the mesh. The dancer’s movements slowed, hitching with each breath, and for a moment there was a silence that felt like the world had shrunk to the confines of the office.
Ruby looked down at what she’d made: Jewell, bound and gagged, eyes wild with humiliation and – if Ruby squinted – maybe a tiny, grudging respect. It wasn’t lost on her that Jewell could have called for help, could have kicked the door or tried harder to break free. But she didn’t. The power had shifted, and both women felt it settle into the air, all sharp edges and dangerous promise.
With the job complete, Ruby wiped a smear of sweat from her brow and gave Jewell’s ass a hard slap, palming the smooth curve just to hear the angry squeal from behind the gag. She bent close, lips nearly brushing Jewell’s ear.
“Maybe you’ll think twice before dry-humping my boyfriend,” she whispered, savoring the tremor that ran through Jewell’s muscles.
She checked the bindings one last time, tugged the mesh bodysuit up so Jewell’s tits were on full display, and stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Satisfied, Ruby spun on her heel and strode out of the office, letting the door thud shut behind her. Jewell couldn’t follow, and the hallway’s silence felt like a gift.
Downstairs, the club had gotten louder, the crowd thickening with the scent of sweat and spilled gin. Ruby could already see Drew by the bar, nervously scanning the crowd for her. She grinned, feeling the slow heat of victory in her chest. There would be hell to pay later, sure, but for now, her hands still tingled with adrenaline and she was ready to put Drew’s hard-on to better use.
That hard-on wasn’t going to go waste.
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